


Black, White, Purple, Grey

by 16woodsequ



Series: Steve Rogers Has PTSD [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (mostly discussed), Acephobia, Asexual Steve Rogers, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, Coming Out, Demisexual Steve Rogers, Demisexuality, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Acephobia, No Sex, Non-Consensual Kissing, SHIELD's A+ Parenting, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, dubious consent kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29199744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/16woodsequ/pseuds/16woodsequ
Summary: Dating has always been different for Steve. Heck,likingpeople has always been different for Steve. He just doesn't seem to feel things the same way most people do. Even after the serum. Even with Peggy.The 1940s didn't have the word for demisexuality. The 21st century does.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Steve Rogers Has PTSD [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124492
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be sure to read the tags.
> 
> (note for the internalized acephobia, it is mostly because Steve doesn't know he is ace yet.)

Dating is… complicated.

At least, it feels that way for Steve anyways.

And that isn’t just because talking to dames is difficult, or because he isn’t really sure if girls even _like_ him. It doesn’t really have a lot to do with his size, or his constant illnesses, or the fact that more often than not he is more worried about making rent, than taking a girl out (although those all probably have something to do with it.)

It is just… he just doesn’t seem to _feel_ it the same way others seem to.

For the most part, he is content with that. Dating is complicated, and messy, and to be honest, it seems like a hassle to him. In school, when the boys and girls had gotten old enough to start noticing each other, and the halls and the corners of classrooms had been full of whispers about who had stepped out with whom, he couldn’t help feeling bemused by it all.

What was the _point_ of stepping out on a few dates here and there with someone if you knew you weren’t really going to keep at it? They were all too young to be really thinking of marriage anyways, and even when they had started to reach that threshold, it had all seemed a little far away to him.

Not that he is _against_ dating. Bucky steps out with dames all the time, and he seems to enjoy it, and Steve doesn’t begrudge him for it. But he doesn’t exactly feel inclined to participate. He goes along with it when Bucky proposes double-dates, and he will admit that he does enjoy going out…

But he is also glad that, for the most part, the girls he gets paired with don’t really seem to be expecting anything beyond a courteous partner for the evening. Once, at the end of a date, the girl he had been with, Molly, had inclined her cheek in his direction for a chaste goodnight kiss. It had taken him a second to figure out exactly what she had been doing, and after that his cheeks had flamed red while he had obliged.

Bucky had teased him about it afterwards, and Steve hadn't had the words to explain that it wasn’t exactly the _kissing_ he minded, it was just… well, he hadn't felt like kissing _her._ It feels strange to him that people seem to want to kiss each other almost automatically. The thought of kissing someone after a first date – or even after a few dates – it makes his skin crawl.

But that isn’t to say that he doesn’t _want_ to kiss people. Eventually. He thinks he wouldn’t mind it, if it were the right person, and if he knew them well enough. But why _that_ is part of the criteria, he doesn’t know. The night after the date, he stares up at the ceiling and tries to make sense of what he is feeling. He doesn’t understand it, and from the way everyone else around him goes on about dating, and courtship, and looks… it feels like maybe… maybe what he is feeling isn’t… normal.

“Maybe you just don’t like brunettes,” Bucky tells him at breakfast the next morning, and Steve shakes his head. That isn’t it.

“I don’t know what I like,” he says, because it is true. Everyone seems to have this idea of their ‘perfect partner’, things like blue eyes, or long legs, or blonde hair, but… he doesn’t get that. How can people know if they will like someone just by looking at them?

At work, he will often hear the guys chatting and sharing opinions about that sort of thing. And sometimes, if a dame they deem attractive walks by, one of them will whistle or shout after her. Steve doesn’t really get that either. He supposes he can appreciate on some level that someone could be attractive at first glance, but it honestly doesn’t _occur_ to him most of the time to think that way.

Do people really think like that, all the time?

“How do you know if you like someone?” he had asked Bucky once, while the man had been getting ready for a night out to the movies. Bucky had glanced up from where he was tying his tie in the tiny mirror above the basin on the dresser, and he had shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he had said, going back to watching himself in the mirror. “You just look at someone, and ya think thatcha wouldn’t mind getting to know them a little better. The askin’ part is the hard part Stevie, but if they say yes than you’re golden.”

He had frowned slightly at that, because it didn’t feel to him like the asking part was the problem here. Sure, he didn’t really do that either, but mostly because he didn’t _feel_ like it. He isn’t against dating, or stepping out but… but so far, he hasn’t really met anyone that he wants to _do_ that with.

 _I’ll find someone eventually,_ he decides after a while, and then he tries not to think about it too hard.

When he enters college, and starts taking his art classes, he meets a girl that makes him wonder if maybe this whole business of liking people isn’t so strange after all. He isn’t exactly sure what draws him to Elizabeth, but they end up partnering for most of the first term. She is smart, and dedicated, and he finds it easy to talk to her, the two of them collaborating on most of their projects as they try to learn new skills and keep up in class.

Elizabeth seems to like him too, and a few weeks into the class, he can’t help noticing that when she smiles at him, he smiles back almost instantly. He even mentions her a few times to Bucky, and he seems pleased for him.

“You should invite her out, next time we go dancing,” he says over supper. “She seems nice, and she’s probably wonderin’ why you haven’t made a move yet.”

That makes Steve think. Is she really waiting for that sort of thing? It is hard for him to tell. He doesn’t _think_ he is flirting with her, but he has already come to terms a long time ago with the fact that he couldn’t recognise flirting if it hit him upside the head.

Does he want to go out with Elizabeth? He will admit that the idea seems pleasant. She is probably the first dame he had gotten to know where the idea of asking her out had even seemed feasible, and he will admit that the thought of getting to know her better seems like a nice one.

He isn’t sure yet, if this is what it feels like to _like_ a person, but maybe it is. He can’t help feeling some relief at the thought that he can feel those things, just like everybody else. There had been times when he had wondered if maybe… with how sick he was, maybe… maybe that was just another thing wrong with him. Something that had gotten messed up along with the hearing in his right ear when he had gotten scarlet fever that one summer.

But, maybe he does like Elizabeth. And… maybe she likes him too.

 _Now_ he understands what Bucky means about the asking part, because once the idea is in his head, he can’t help thinking about it when he sees Elizabeth. If he asks her, will that upset things? He has a pretty good friendship with Elizabeth now, and if asking her to go dancing will ruin that, then he doesn’t want to risk it.

His old insecurities crop up one at a time. Would Elizabeth really want to go out with someone like him? He isn’t exactly the ‘ideal partner’ for most dames, and he doesn’t have a lot of experience either. What if she wants to kiss at the end?

He swallows when he thinks about it. He supposes he wouldn’t mind kissing Elizabeth as much as he would another girl but… well. If he did kiss her, he wouldn’t want to go much _beyond_ that. She would probably understand that, right?

But… what if she doesn’t?

From what he can tell, guys aren’t supposed to be hesitant about this sort of thing. What if she gets offended that he doesn’t want to kiss her right away? What if she kisses him before he can say anything? What is he supposed to do then?

The uncertainty around that makes him hesitate. He knows somehow, that whatever it is that is growing between him and Elizabeth will die if he pushes himself – or gets pushed – too quickly. He doesn’t want that, because he _does_ like Elizabeth, and… in the end, he doesn’t have to make his decision.

Instead, the war looming in Europe breaks out, and Elizabeth informs him sadly that she is moving away, her father’s ties with the military uprooting the family for the time being. He feels sad seeing Elizabeth go, but when Bucky asks him half-jokingly if he is heartbroken, he doesn’t know how to respond.

He will miss Elizabeth, and part of him wishes that he had asked her out at least once… But, at the same time, he can feel that whatever it was that had been blossoming between them is beginning to settle down. It is almost as if, since it hadn't quite had the chance to sprout yet, it isn’t too much of a tragedy when it dies.

He is a little distracted away from that sort of thing anyways, because the war in Europe creeps closer and closer, and soon he finds the States entering as well. He drops out of art school at that point, and Bucky gets his enlistment papers a year later, and after that, thinking about girls isn't really a priority.

oOo

He hadn't realised it until afterwards, but a part of him had sort of expected the serum to kick start whatever part of him it was that didn’t seem to be with the program. It had been on his mind going into the operation. He had had slow growing feelings for Peggy for some time, but he still hadn't really been sure if what he was feeling was the _same_ as what everyone else felt for this sort of thing.

He thinks he likes Peggy, but not yet in the all-consuming burning kind of way that he has read about, and when he opens his eyes after the serum, things feel about the same.

Of course, he is a little distracted at the time, what with a sudden new onslaught of colours, and sounds, and height— and then Erskine’s death and the frantic chase afterwards on legs that are suddenly much longer than they used to be.

Still, afterwards, once he settles down and they start trying to figure out what the serum had done to him, he concludes that it hadn't changed up his feelings towards Peggy at all. It is a bit of a relief actually, because then that means that that isn’t something that needs to be _fixed._ The serum had been supposed to fix everything, and it hadn't touched this, so…

So it must be alright then, right?

It is still confusing.

While he may have been growing to like Peggy, and while he may suspect that she feels similarly, he doesn’t really see her often enough to really figure out what he is feeling. Peggy is busy with the SSR, and he is busy with the USO.

The showgirls there at least confirm to him that what he feels for Peggy – whatever it is – is different than what he feels for any other girl. For the most part they leave him alone, which is a relief. But, he can tell that now, unlike before the serum, a lot of the girls around him actually seem to _notice_ him.

It is more uncomfortable than he would like. He still doesn’t understand how or why someone could just look at him, and decide that they like him, and he doesn’t know how he is expected to know if he likes them back after just a few sentences of conversation.

Do people really just decide these sorts of things on looks? He knows that the whole dating process is supposed to help people get to know each other and see if they are compatible, but how can people decide if they want to step out together so quickly? Even for only one night of fun?

It all feels rather baffling to him, and he mostly focuses on studying up for the army in between his shows. Captain America might be a showtune, but if he is going to be a Captain, then he is going to earn it.

His studies end up paying off once he gets shipped off to perform at the front. He had known before it had even started that it was probably a poor choice on behalf of the organisers. He knows that shows are common on the front, to help keep up morale, but it feels… wrong of him, to stand up and talk about defeating Hitler to these men, when he himself has yet to fight at all.

He soon earns his stripes though, because it turns out that the unit he had been stationed with had been _Bucky’s_ unit. And Bucky had been reported dead. The news hits him like a punch to the gut, and he can’t sit idle after he learns that there will be no rescue attempt for the remaining prisoners.

He doesn’t know if Bucky is alive. He doesn’t. But, he has to try, and if Bucky isn’t alive then well — at least he can finally put the serum to good use and save the other prisoners.

Peggy is there at the encampment, and she knows immediately what he is planning. It is against regulations, but she doesn’t try to stop him. Instead, she sets him up with Howard to fly them into enemy territory.

“You know, you two are gonna be in a lot of trouble at the lab,” he shouts over the sound of the roaring engine as Howard flies them through the night sky.

“And you won’t?” Peggy says, her eyes flicking over him with what he thinks might be concern, or at least, thoughtfulness. He isn’t really thinking of whatever may or may not be between them though, his mind mostly focused on his upcoming mission. But Howard speaks up and the topic jumps to the forefront of his brain.

“Agent Carter,” he hears him call as he gets ready to pull on his parachute. “If we’re not in too much of a hurry I thought we could stop off in Lucerne for a late night fondue.”

Peggy’s eyes dart to him again, and he flicks his eyes between the two of them, trying to read the situation. He hadn't thought anything of it, but with the way Peggy is acting… is fondue some kind of term? He is always so bad at catching those. Why can’t people just say what they _mean?_

“Stark is the best civilian pilot I’ve ever seen,” Peggy says, as though trying to cover for what Howard had said. “He’s mad enough to brave this airspace, we’re lucky to have him.”

He nods a little at that, still feeling off-balance by the unexpected confusion. “So are you two…?” He flicks his eyes up to the pilot seat and back. “Do you…? Fondue?”

Peggy seems to decide to ignore his awkward question, and he doesn’t know how to feel as she hands him his transponder. He isn’t really… _that_ upset that Peggy and Howard might be… fondueing. There hadn't really been anything between him and Peggy anyways. He had sort of thought that maybe there _could_ be something, but at the same time, it isn’t devastating to him that there might not be.

It just confuses him because he had _thought_ that he had been reading Peggy correctly, and he will admit that he hadn't been opposed to the idea of letting something grow there. But if he had been reading Peggy all wrong then—

He gives his head a shake and puts away the problem for now. He has more important things to focus on.

oOo

The rescue mission is, thankfully, a success. Bucky is blessedly alive, and Command had been pacified enough by the return of a few hundred prisoners and the resulting skyrocketing morale to let the ‘unsanctioned’ part of his mission slide.

After the rescue he doesn’t really have a lot of time or inclination to think about his confusion over Peggy. He sees her again after the rescue, and the way she stares at him… Bucky _says_ that they were making eyes at each other, and he probably isn’t wrong. He still doesn’t know exactly what had been happening – if anything – between her and Howard, but that night in the bar, he decides that, after the war, once this is all over, he… probably wouldn't mind going out dancing with Peggy.

(He thinks she wouldn’t mind dancing with him either.)

Right _now_ it seems like a little too much though, what with the war and Hydra, so he is mostly content to let it sit as a pleasant thought in his head while he works through the kinks of _actually_ getting sanctioned by the army, and building his own team (with the people _he_ wants on it, which seems to be ruffling some feathers.)

The momentum of Captain America helps him a little though, and he soon finds himself trying to organise the supplies and equipment he will need for missions. He walks through the main office dressed in his dress uniform, his eyes flicking over the desks and cabinets as he searches for Howard.

“Excuse me,” he says to one of the secretaries who works with Colonel Philips, and he recognises her to be Private Lorraine. “I’m looking for Mr. Stark.”

Lorraine is busy reading a paper with the headline proclaiming his successful rescue mission, and she doesn’t look up as she replies back flatly. “He’s with Colonel Philips.”

He stops uncertainly, standing at attention as he glances towards the door off to the side and wonders how long he should expect the meeting to go. Peggy had said he needed to meet with Howard and discuss some things, but maybe it would be better to come back later—

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lorraine look up and give a double take as she recognises him. A lot of people are doing that now – even more than after he had gotten the serum – and her disposition changes to a more friendly one as she relaxes her shoulders and folds the newspaper down, smiling at him. “Of course, you’re welcome to wait,” she says, in a warmer tone.

He nods amiably at that, relaxing slightly as he spies a desk across from her. He goes over to perch on the edge, glad at least that he has somewhere to wait for Howard’s meeting to finish. Lorraine seems much more interested in him than she had first been, and she spins in her chair as he sits down, holding up the paper for him to see.

“I read about what you did,” she says, and he can’t quite place her tone, something in her eyes making him feel like they are having a different conversation than he thinks.

“Oh! The…yeah!” he says, still trying to get used to everyone knowing what he had done and the explosion of Captain America as a true war hero. He hadn't done it for that, he hadn't even _thought_ of the press at the time, but the propaganda machine is just eating it up right now. “Well, that’s you know? Just doin’ what needed to be done,” he continues, his eyes flicking down as he glances towards Colonel Philips’ door.

“Sounded like more than that,” Lorraine says, calling his attention back to her, the same low tone to her voice as she puts the newspaper away and leans an elbow back on her desk. “You saved nearly four hundred men.”

He swallows and presses his lips up into a small smile, his hands clenching from where they are clasped in front of him. Lorraine stares back at him, and a kernel of discomfort grows in his stomach. “Really,” he says, waving a hand, unable to quite meet her gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”

That doesn’t end the conversation though, because now she is standing up, and _oh_ , he definitely knows the look in her eyes now. It is sharp and purposeful as she comes towards him, her hips swaying. She knows exactly what she wants, and he is pretty sure he knows too.

He isn’t used to this sort of thing. Before the serum most girls didn’t notice him. He hasn’t had to _deal_ with this much — and he is suddenly aware that he had not minded that _at all._

“Tell that to their wives,” she says in a tone that is probably supposed to be enticing.

It makes his heart pound, although probably not in the way she expects, and he pulls back, his shoulders hunching as he folds his arms uncomfortably over his chest and tries to redirect the conversation. “Uh…” he manages, the nerves in his voice making it higher than usual. “I don’t think they were all married.”

Lorraine doesn’t react to that statement, and she is suddenly so close that he can see the individual strands of her hair as she leans in. The light from above glints off of the golden strands, and he finds himself looking at that, rather then her eyes as she stares up at him.

“You’re a hero,” she says softly, and she is too close. He feels trapped against the table, but he can’t seem to move. He could try to get up and slink away, but he is supposed to be waiting for Howard— and also, he doesn’t know how to react to _this._ He has never had to deal with this, and Lorraine probably expects him to react how guys normally would but—

He breathes in shakily as her hands come up to fiddle with the buttons of his suit, and he can’t figure out what to do with his own hands. “Well, that…you know?” His hands flutter nervously as he scratches at his forehead and Lorraine tugs at his tie, pulling it out from his shirt. “That…that depends on the definition of it really.”

He can feel his heartbeat fast and loud in his mouth as she touches him. He can’t get out now without pushing her off of him, and he could do that, he is strong enough now, but— but somehow it feels like that isn’t _allowed_ and he doesn’t know what to _do—_

“The women of America, they owe you their thanks,” Lorraine says, her eyes intent as he stares down at her, frozen in stunned indecision. He feels like an animal, caught and afraid in the rifle’s sight, and his heart continues to pound fast and helpless in his chest. The rest of his body seems far away as she tugs him up by his tie, his throat feeling tight and swollen around the fabric. She pulls, and his stomach flips, his mind mostly blank as he follows her on wooden legs behind the shelving unit by her desk.

Lorraine seems perfectly at ease as she glances behind her and then back up at him. “And uh…seeing as they’re not here…” His heart spasms in his chest, but before he can say anything, she pulls on his tie again, tugging him in as she leans up and kisses him.

His hands come up in shock, and he freezes.

He has never kissed anyone like this before, and he doesn’t know what he expected it to feel like, but this… This is not the way he wanted it. Lorraine’s lips press against his, and he doesn’t know why people seem so obsessed with this sort of thing. Her mouth is foreign and strange on his, and his nose – enhanced by the serum – feels practically overwhelmed by her perfume, and the scent of soap in her hair.

He would pull back, except he can’t seem to move. Even his breathing feels frozen, and he can’t seem to get his hands to move to push Lorraine away, because he doesn’t want to touch her more than he has to— except she is pressing against him, and he can feel her arms shift and move to wrap around his neck, and he feels a flare of panic because how far is he supposed to expect this to go—?

“Captain!”

The sharp voice breaks through everything, and he pulls away abruptly, his mind spinning as he stumbles away from Lorraine and brings a hand up to wipe at his mouth. He looks up, and Peggy is standing there by the shelves, her hands on her hips and an intense look in her eyes.

“We’re ready for you,” she bites out. “ _If_ you’re not otherwise occupied.” His stomach drops as she turns away, anger evident in her step.

“Agent Carter, wait!” he calls, all thoughts of Lorraine gone from his head as he stumbles after Peggy.

Peggy is angry with him though, and he doesn’t know how to explain what had just happened. His thoughts are already scrambled and frayed thanks to everything, and he can’t help the spark of anger that mixes in with his embarrassment and confusion as she snaps at him.

“Well, what about you and Stark?” he gets out as they near the lab. “How do I know you two haven’t been… fondueing?”

He thinks it is a fair question, because technically, he and Peggy aren’t even _together_ yet. They hadn't even talked about it yet except through some heavily implied metaphors. He may not have wanted to kiss Lorraine, but it isn’t fair that Peggy is mad at him either — especially since he doesn’t even know if something is happening between her and Stark.

Apparently something _isn’t_ happening between her and Stark though, and his words just make her despair in him. “You still don’t know a bloody thing about women,” she says as she turns away, and he swallows uneasily as he follows her into Howard’s lab.

She isn’t wrong, and his stomach churns unhappily as he rubs his hand over his mouth again, trying to chase away the feel of Lorraine’s lips. Why is everything so _complicated?_

He gets to the lab, and Howard isn’t exactly very helpful in explaining anything about women, but he does show him a whole array of shield options for him to choose from. He picks up a round, silver looking one, and Howard tells him it is made of vibranium, one of the rarest metals on Earth.

Peggy comes in as he is hefting it and testing out its weight. Her voice is sharp and direct as she calls for him, and he winces internally. It is obvious that Peggy is still mad at him, but he doesn’t really know how to repair the situation.

He tries to smile at her as he lifts the shield, hoping to gain some measure of forgiveness by talking to her about something else besides Lorraine. “What do you think?” he asks.

In the blink of an eye, Peggy snatches up the gun from a nearby table, and his ears ring as she fires at him, the shots echoing off the wall as he ducks behind the shield. His heart pounds in his chest and he stands frozen again, the flattened bullets from the gun clinking softly as they land by his feet.

“Yes,” Peggy says simply as she discards the gun and he peaks out from behind the shield. “I think it works.”

oOo

He feels… conflicted over Peggy after that.

He thinks he likes her, but the incident in the lab had seemed to dampen that slightly. Her anger had hurt, and his own anger at her for not understanding, and at himself for not being able to explain – or to stop Lorraine – just makes things worse.

“You have to talk to her,” Bucky had said, once he had finally confided in him, the two of them sitting in their bedrolls and staring up at the canvas of their tent. “If you don’t talk, then this’ll sit between you and fester.”

Steve swallows, because he knows that Bucky is right, and he rolls over and looks at him. “But…” he licks his lips. “But… what do I do after that?” he says, glad that the dark of the night around them hides his embarrassed blush at asking. “What if we do make up?” he looks down and fiddles with his blanket. “Buck, I’m not–” he chews on his lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go… dancing.”

He doesn’t know how else to say it, and his stomach twists at the silence that settles between them for a moment. Next to him, Bucky shifts, and Steve’s eyes are enhanced enough that, while he can’t see him well, he can still pick out the shape of his face in the dark.

“You were always one to go slow, Steve,” Bucky says quietly, and Steve can feel his gaze on him as he listens. “If Peggy doesn’t want that then, well…” the fabric of his blanket rustles as he shrugs, and he lets out a breath. “Then I guess she isn’t the one then.”

Steve nods slowly, the knot of unease in his stomach unravelling slightly at that. He still feels nervous about it, but Bucky’s words at least give him something simple to grasp onto. “Yeah, I guess,” he says in reply, turning over to stare up into the darkness as he thinks.

What Bucky says gives him some reassurance, but he can’t help the creeping thought that maybe, it wouldn’t be only Peggy’s fault, if she didn’t want to go as slow as he did. What if he just wants to go _too_ slow?

What if nobody ever wants to wait that long?

He meets Peggy again coming in off of a Hydra raid. It is winter now, and the mud of the base camp is hard and frozen and miserable. The tents and their coats and gloves hardly enough to keep out the chill. Peggy is with Colonel Philip’s when he reports back to him, and after the briefing, he manages to catch his eye, Bucky's words echoing in his mind.

“Can I talk to you?” he manages, and Peggy flicks her eyes over him once, before she nods.

There isn’t much privacy in the camp, and more than one soldier throws him a knowing smile as he follows her out to stand away in the shelter of the trees on the edge of camp. He ignores them though, his mind mostly focused on Peggy as he tries to come up with what he wants to say.

The trees next to the camp help block out some of the bitter wind, and the ground is mostly bare as she stops and turns to face him, her eyes searching.

“Peggy,” he starts, pulling his coat tighter around him as he looks at her. He presses his lips together and breathes in. “Are… are you still mad at me?”

That seems to be the right thing to say, because Peggy’s mouth twitches up, and she ducks her head slightly as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “I suppose not,” she says finally, her eyes coming up to search his. “But I am a little confused.”

 _Me too_ , he thinks, and that is when the whole story with Lorraine comes tumbling out in a jumble of words, his hands waving in his gloves as he talks.

“I really didn’t mean to kiss her,” he says fervently. “She kissed me, and I was stuck. And then you came, but you were mad at me and–” he rolls his shoulders and pulls away slightly. “And then I was kinda mad at you too because you shot at me.”

He darts his eyes up to her and he sees her wince, her hands going to the pockets of her wool coat as she breathes out steam into the air. “That was irresponsible of me,” she says finally, her gaze meeting his steadily. “It was dangerous, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

He blinks at her, and she takes a small step closer. She doesn’t have the same look on her face as Lorraine had though, and she doesn’t come as close, so he doesn’t move away, his breath fogging in the air as he looks at her. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, her eyes sincere as she darts her gaze over him. “I suppose I shouldn’t have made assumptions about your side of the story.”

He lets out a breath and his mouth quirks up, the frozen dirt crunching under his feet as he shifts his stance. “Well,” he says, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. “I made assumptions about you and Howard too.”

Peggy smiles at that, and her eyes glitter as she looks at him. “Well,” she says quietly. “Do you think we should stop making assumptions then?”

He swallows as he looks down at her. “Yes,” he says softly, before dropping his eyes. “But, Peggy–” he can feel her gaze on him, and he looks back up, trying to come up with the words he needs. “I don’t think I’m quite— ready yet,” he manages.

Peggy’s eyes dart over his, and he can tell she doesn’t know what to make of his words. “What do you mean?” she asks, a note of caution entering her voice, and he rushes to explain.

“I like you, Peggy,” he says, because at this point he thinks that is a pretty safe bet. He _does_ like her, but– “But I want to get to know you more, first,” he continues, his eyes on hers as he talks. “With the war, and with the Commandos, we— we don’t have _time_ really, to get to– to dancing.”

Peggy’s eyes are dark brown, and he stares into them as he finishes, waiting to hear what she has to say. He is asking a lot, he knows. He is asking her to wait, basically, like any of the other sweethearts left back at home. But they are both busy, and they both have work to do. If they tried to build something now, he doesn’t think it would last long.

And… and while he likes Peggy, he doesn’t think he is quite ready yet to follow the steps that most courtships do. He thinks he wants to. He doesn’t mind the idea. But he needs more time first. They both need time to figure each other out, and it is hard to do that with the war going on.

Peggy blinks, and she doesn’t look upset. “You’re right,” she says, her eyes bright and calm as she looks up at him. He relaxes slightly at that, and she smiles. “You will owe me a dance at the end of the war though, Captain.”

A smile grows on his face, and he nods. “I’ll be saving it,” he says.

oOo

He feels better after that. There is an understanding between him and Peggy. He imagines it is probably a bit different than what most people usually settle on, but he doesn’t mind that. He and Peggy continue to work together comfortably and things feel easier than they used to be, now that he doesn’t have to worry all the time about what she might be thinking of him.

He goes on missions, and she goes about her own business, and sometimes, when they both manage to get leave at the same time, they just… spend time being together. The Commandos tease him when he comes back from walking with her through the small French village they had stopped in, but Bucky doesn’t do anything but smile, and he finds himself smiling too.

He keeps Peggy’s picture in the lid of his compass, and it sits there more as a promise than anything else. A promise for something after, a promise and a hope for the feelings he can feel growing everyday. This is more than he had felt for Elizabeth, more than he had felt for anyone really, and when he thinks about it, his chest feels light and warm in a way that makes him almost understand what everyone else had been talking about all this time.

The war gets in the way though.

Bucky dies, and the warmth curls up and hides itself in self-defence as his world comes crashing down around him. Peggy comforts him the best she can, her gaze sharp and determined as she refuses to let him wallow in self-blame.

“Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice,” she says, and he feels his resolve harden. His pain shifts and burns in his chest and he breathes in.

“I’m not going to stop until all of Hydra is dead or captured,” he says, and Peggy doesn’t try to stop him. He thinks she knows that this is the most important right now.

Maybe that is part of why he likes Peggy so much. She is practical, and reasonable – beyond the time she had shot him at least – and unlike the books or movies, she doesn’t seem intent on pulling up their budding romance when it isn’t needed.

The promise still sits between them, but they have other things they need to do first. And he knows without having to say anything that he needs to go after Hydra first, before he will be able to build a space for Peggy in his heart. Losing Bucky feels like ripping out a piece of himself, and it would feel wrong if it felt any differently.

So he goes after Hydra, and they invade the last nest in an effort to smoke out Redskull and the last of his forces. Redskull escapes off in a speeding plane though, and the wind whips past his face as he sits in the back of a speeding car, Peggy sitting next to him as Colonel Philips tries to catch up with the retreating plane.

There is no hesitation in him as he prepares to jump onto the wheels of the landing gear. He knows he needs to do this, and a part of him knows that this is probably one of the riskiest missions he has ever gone on — and that he might not make it back — but he can’t risk letting Redskull get away with those bombs.

He thinks Peggy knows all that too, and he thinks that is why, at the last minute, she cries out. “Wait!” she calls, and he blinks as he looks over at her. Next to him, Peggy surges up in one movement, her hands clasping at his suit as she leans in and kisses him.

He freezes, just like the last time, because he had not been expecting it, and somehow, he still hadn't been ready yet. He feels like he could have been, at some point, but… but… there isn’t really any time left for that now, is there?

Peggy pulls back, and he stares at her, trying to process all of his feelings, and it is only Colonel Philips’ gruff voice that pulls him out of it and focuses him back on the mission. He puts the kiss – and his onslaught of confusing emotions – at the back of his mind for now, and he moves on to fighting Redskull.

Peggy had been right about them being out of time. It probably doesn’t make things any easier for her though, when he is sitting in the cockpit of a Hydra bomber plane, the static of the radio the only thing linking them together.

“Peggy?” he calls, as the wind and snow whip past his face, the nose of the plane angled downward towards a blinding white shelf of ice.

 _“I’m here_ ,” she replies, her voice soft and strained as she listens.

He swallows and his stomach squeezes as he tightens his grip on the wheel, trying to keep the fear out of his voice as he talks. “I’m gonna need a rain check on that dance.”

He wishes it were different. He does. He wishes they had had more time, and maybe he wishes that he hadn't needed so much time in the first place… But there isn’t much he can do about that now.

Peggy sounds like she is swallowing back tears as she responds, but her voice is surprisingly steady, the sound of it helping to ground his pounding heart. “ _Alright,”_ she says, willing to give him this in the last moments he has left. _“A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club_.”

“You got it,” he says back, his eyes flicking to his open compass next to him as he promises something else that will never be fulfilled.

 _“Eight o’clock on the dot,”_ Peggy continues, trying to pull up some of her characteristic sharpness as the plane speeds closer and closer to the vast whiteness. _“Don’t you dare be late. Understood?”_

His grip is painful on the wheel and his lips feel numb from the cold, but he hangs onto the conversation with everything he has left. “You know,” he manages. “I still don’t know how to dance.”

The words aren’t anything close to everything he wants to say, and he doubts Peggy even knows the depth of what he wants to say; how much he had hoped to maybe learn to dance with her, how that had felt right, in a way that it hadn't for most people.

He manages to pull a sad laugh from her though. “ _I’ll show you how,”_ she says, and he wishes that that could be true. _“Just be there_.”

“We’ll have the band play somethin’ slow,” he replies, the ice filling his vision and his stomach twisting with sadness as he is reminded of what Bucky had said ages ago about taking it slow. The plane groans around him and the ice is a solid looming mass in front of him, and he hangs onto his line with Peggy with everything he has in him. “I’d hate to step on your—”

And then he hits.

And then, seventy years later, he wakes up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve wanted to write this story for a long time. I hope you enjoyed it and how I interpreted Steve’s relationships. I really wanted to address the whole scene between Steve and Lorraine, and then between him and Peggy, since it is kind of messed up. I think Steve and Peggy would have definitely needed to talk after that.
> 
> I will be posting the final chapter next week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve wakes up in the 21st century, and learns some things about himself.

Dating is just as complicated in the twenty-first century as it had been in the last one.

If anything, it is even _more_ complicated because while Steve may have been confused and cautious about the rules and norms before, at least he had known what they _were._ Now the world has had seventy years of cultural shifts and changing social norms, and the prospect of trying to figure out how to date in the middle of that feels nearly impossible.

Not that he really _wants_ to date though. That hasn’t changed. Out of everything, going into the ice hadn't changed that.

It had changed pretty much everything else though.

It is difficult, getting used to everyone he knows being dead, and figuring out new technology, and sifting through the piles and piles of files and paperwork that SHIELD gives him to get him up to speed. He has missed a lot of history and—unlike the average citizen who may not know all the details of one historical movement or the other—he doesn’t have even the barest of background knowledge to fall back on. He has to learn it all from scratch.

He manages it though, for the most part. He reads his files, and he works for SHIELD, and he manages to survive an alien invasion…and he reads his files.

He gets to the 60s in his files, and that helps him understand more about where this new century is coming from. (He also gets to the conservative backlash a few decades later, and that helps him understand even more.)

Things are similar and different now than they used to be in the 40s. In some areas, sex is less stigmatized, and conversations about discrimination and marginalisation in all areas are cropping up. It isn’t _new_ problems, but with the internet and the vast dissemination of ideas it is easy to feel like things are changing much faster than they used to.

It becomes clear to him that a lot of people—for better or for worse— expect him to be opposed to a lot of these changes, simply because of where, and when he is from. To be honest, that baffles him. He has never liked bullies, and he had just woken up from fighting a war sparked by intolerance, hatred, racism, bigotry, and violence. He is not very inclined to let _any_ of that sit undisturbed in the world today— no matter who it might be aimed at.

That isn’t to say that some things don’t take some getting used to, and he doesn’t always understand all the terminology or changes in thinking that are mainstream now… But he is fully prepared to do what he needs to do in order to learn and understand and support the progress that has been made in his absence.

That doesn’t exactly make dating any easier though.

While in some areas, sex seems to be less stigmatised (sometimes at least), he can’t help noting that things also seem to be _hyper_ sexualised now. He tries not to let it get to him, because he fears coming off as uptight or prudish about it, but some of it does make him uncomfortable.

It isn’t that he is against other people exploring that kind of thing, but the sheer prevalence of it everywhere feels almost overwhelming. If there was a pressure back in the forties to find someone and get married, then now it feels like there is a pressure to find someone and sleep with them.

Of course, he knows that not everyone believes that—and the growing conversations about consent and safe sex don’t seem all that bad to him—but… in a way, it feels like the pressure for sex, on guys especially… hasn’t changed that much.

He can remember when Lorraine had kissed him. She had probably fully expected him to enjoy it and reciprocate, because that was _expected_ of guys. He hadn't known what to do at the time, because rejecting her had felt he was admitting something he didn’t want to.

Nowadays there is more talk about consent and being able to reject unwanted attention, but it still feels like there is an expectation that, eventually, everyone _will_ want that sort of thing. And, losing one’s virginity seems to take on a new importance.

The idea had been there before, but now suddenly the perception (in some society at least) that someone who hasn’t had sex is some kind of innocent, young thing—or on the other hand—a pitiable loner, seems all the more prevalent.

That frustrates him. Why is having sex all that important to people? Why is there this idea that not doing so makes someone young, or naïve, or immature? Of all the things in the world, he would not say he is ‘innocent’, not after what he had fought through… But in the media everywhere, he sees this stigma against the ‘aging virgin’.

Of course, there is still a stigma against sex too… But it feels to him like society isn’t happy with either side of the coin.

It doesn’t help that Captain America has become a sort of symbol now. People may have begun to know him back in the war, but now _everyone_ knows him, and they all have plenty of pre-conceived notions about him and his sexual life.

He isn’t against sex. Not exactly. But he doesn’t really feel inclined to just go do it for the sake of _doing_ it either. He isn’t sure how that will come across to any of his potential partners. He already knows that if he were to ever want to have sex with someone, then it would not be right away, and with the way media portrays dating nowadays…

He knows that that will have to be a conversation he would need to have almost immediately with his date, and with the way people view Captain America…and with the way people look at _him_ through the lens of seventy years of progress looking back on the forties…

He can see the headlines now. **CAPTAIN AMERICA UPHOLDS TRADITIONAL VALUES** , or maybe **YOU WON’T _BELIEVE_ WHICH OF THESE CELEBRITIES IS STILL A VIRGIN; NUMBER SIX WILL SURPRISE YOU.**

That is part of why he doesn’t feel like he can talk to anyone about this. After the Battle of New York, SHIELD puts him on a STRIKE team, and it is common for him to hear the same type of talk among them as he would when working back in the forties. It makes him just as uncomfortable, and it feels just as foreign as it had used to, but he doesn’t know how to _say_ that.

He is pretty sure that if he mentioned any of this to anyone, they would just see it as him being ‘old-fashioned’ or backward. But that _isn’t it_. He has always been this way and nothing, not the serum, not the ice, not even Peggy had changed that.

Peggy is another thing that is different in the twenty-first century.

He wakes up and she is already an old woman. He had died and she had lived a life after him, and he is happy about that. A part of him is sad by the loss of what could have been—and he finds that history has turned their romance into something much more than it had ever been—but he is glad that Peggy had been able to find happiness without him.

“You lived a good life,” he tells Peggy when he visits her, and she smiles at him as she looks over at the picture of her children by her bedside.

“Let me tell you about them,” she says, and he has heard these stories before, but nothing in the world could keep him from settling down and listening again.

Strangely enough—or maybe not—the unfulfilled promise between him and Peggy isn’t the hardest part about this new life of his. There is a sadness there, but it is mixed in with, and overwhelmed by his grief over everything else. On top of it all, he is still grieving Bucky, who had died only a short while ago for him. The bond between him and Peggy may have been new and hopeful, but the one between him and Bucky had been there much longer, and the pain of losing it aches continually.

In a way, the change between him and Peggy feels a lot like what had happened between him and Elizabeth, years ago. He would have been happy, if something had grown between them, and something _had_ been growing between them, but there is no chance of that now, and he can feel his brain gently and quietly putting those feelings in a box on a shelf in his head. He might refile through it occasionally, and he may keep his compass stored carefully away somewhere safe, where it won’t get damaged, but he is not grieving the loss in the same way he thinks some people expect him too.

Society’s perception of him and Peggy acts as a sort of useful barrier for a while though. For the first little while after the ice, it is as though everyone is giving him space to grieve and process that loss. He is mostly too overwhelmed by everything to really worry about other women, but for the most part, they leave him alone.

And then… whatever universal mourning period allotted to him seems to lapse, because slowly but surely, he finds himself becoming the object of people’s attention again. Generally, it isn’t as bad as it had been with Lorraine, but he still isn’t used to being _viewed_ like that, and he also finds it difficult to really believe that the people are connecting to _him_ , and not some idea of him that they have in their heads.

If it had been difficult to connect to people before, it is even harder now. The legend of Captain America sits like a dividing wall between him and other people. He has no way of knowing whether he is being approached simply because of his looks, his status, his history, or _himself_. And that…that makes it difficult for him to even think about pursuing things further with anyone (never mind the looming Conversation about relationship expectations that he knows will need to happen should he ever try to actually date someone.)

It doesn’t really bother him being single though. Sure, the idea of having someone in his life seems nice, but he also isn’t desperate for it. Singleness seems to be a controversial issue nowadays, but he tries not to let it bother him. If he finds someone that he actually wants to date and spend time with, then he will be open to that. For now…he mostly just focuses on coping with modern life.

oOo

Not everyone seems inclined to let him live that way though. About a year into waking up and working with SHIELD, Natasha seems to decide that the time is well past for him to get a date. “If you’re nervous about it, I can help you,” she says on their way back from a mission. “I know things are probably different now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still have fun.”

To be honest, he thinks Natasha’s efforts are probably her way to try to connect with him and help him the best way she knows how, but he isn’t really interested. He already knows a bit about the culture of dating nowadays, and while he knows people still go about it the ‘old-fashioned way’, there is also a culture of online dating, and blind dates, and one-night stands.

None of those things really seem pleasant to him, and he also knows that if he were to go on a date, there is a very good chance that he might know immediately that he doesn’t want to go on any _more_ with the person. He imagines gaining a cold reputation by turning down second dates with people he doesn’t click with over and over probably isn’t a good idea.

So he declines Natasha’s offer. “Thanks,” he says, tugging off his gloves. “But I have plenty of fun on my own.”

Natasha doesn’t get a chance to reply to that, because behind her, Rumlow scoffs and manages to turn the phrase into an innuendo with a single sound. That is yet another thing that Steve doesn’t have a lot of mental practice doing, and he hates the fact that his blush is probably seen as him just being _naïve_ and easily flustered, rather than embarrassed and annoyed because everyone—in the forties _and_ now—seems to enjoy doing that way more than he does.

He turns away after that, and Natasha lets the subject drop for the time being. 

Not forever though.

She doesn’t push it super far—he never finds out that she had organised a date _for_ him, or written any love notes on his behalf or anything—but every few missions now, she will mention someone or another that she thinks would be compatible with him.

For the most part, he doesn’t really want to date SHIELD agents, because he thinks that they probably see too much of Captain America in him, and getting to know civilians is almost as hard as getting to know Peggy during the war, so that is off the table too.

Natasha doesn’t give up, despite her growing list of failures, but she does ask him once if the ‘girl’ part of the equation is the problem. He probably shouldn’t be surprised by her question, but… he doesn’t think that is it either.

“I think it’s just me,” he tells her, and he has to press his lips against the sudden onslaught of words about how it had _always_ been him. “I’m not against dating,” he says instead, because he doesn’t want her to think that. “I just haven’t found the right partner yet.”

Natasha tilts her head at him, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll find the right one, eventually,” she says after a moment, and he lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head.

To be honest, he isn’t sure about that, but he finds he isn’t too worried about it.

oOo

Natasha’s question about his dating preferences does linger in his head though, and he finds himself thinking it over again a few weeks later on his day off. He is downtown, browsing through the collection of one of the big-chain book stores. He is mostly looking to find some more history books for himself, or maybe a few ‘classic’ fiction books that he had missed, but he finds his eye catching on a colourful display by the window.

It is June now, and the table is draped with rainbow streamers and he realises suddenly that he knows what this is. He had learned about Pride month from SHIELD’s files, but this is his first time really experiencing it since waking up. He drifts towards the table, and his eyes flick over the display.

There are a few autobiographies, as well as some fictional stories set out, although the historical ones interest him most, since he had only gotten a brief overview from SHIELD about the growth of all this in the past seventy years.

He is reaching for one about Marsha P. Johnson, when his eye catches on a book sitting near the back of the table, the white cover catching the light of the window as he looks over. **The Asexual Umbrella,** it reads in bold black letters, a purple umbrella with a grey handle sitting open and embossed on the front.

He blinks at it, because he doesn’t know that word, and he had been trying his best to stay informed on these sorts of things. He reaches for it, mostly out of the desire not to be left out of the loop, and he flips it over to read the back.

It takes him a second to find the summary among the various reviews but eventually he manages to scan the blurb. **_What is the Asexual Umbrella?_ **it starts. _The Asexual Umbrella is a term that encompasses asexuality and the rest of its spectrum, be it demisexuality, or grey-sexuality. Sexual attraction is common for many people, but people on this spectrum experience little to no sexual attraction to anyone._

_In a world that seems to rotate around sexual and romantic relationships, feeling otherwise can sometimes seem alienating. However, while these feelings can at times seem overwhelming, author Jean Price reassures her readers that asexuality is valid and an innate part of who they are._

_In each chapter, readers will find a comprehensive guide to asexual and aromantic orientations as well as the lived experiences and stories from those on the asexual and aromantic spectrum as they navigate life, love, sex, and anything else that comes their way._

His mouth feels dry as he finishes reading, and he forgets all about the shop behind him as he flips the book back over, staring at the cover again. He has never heard of any of this before, and some of the words are still foreign to him, but some of what it had said…

_People on this spectrum experience little to no sexual attraction to anyone._

Is that…is feeling that way…something other people also feel?

His hands shake slightly as he opens the book, and he finds himself reading greedily, his eyes skimming over the table of contents, before flipping to the introduction. The first part of the books starts off mostly with the author’s intentions and writing process and he finds himself sucked in by every word.

_The term asexual umbrella (or asexual spectrum)_ , it says, _encompasses all of the identities related to asexuality, including asexual, grey-asexual, and demisexual, and in this book I will often use ace, or asexuality to refer to the entire spectrum. Asexuality and aromantism are broad and varied, and often underrepresented, which is part of why I wanted to write this book._

_Asexuality and aromantism are important, and the living stories in these pages help bring it all to life. Whether you are asexual, questioning, hoping to learn more, or simply curious, this book is for you._

He isn’t exactly sure how long he stands there reading the book. Patrons move around him in the bookstore, and a few people probably wonder at him, but he finds his entire being focused down on the book in his hands.

The first chapter is about asexuality itself, and as he reads it—first the basic definitions and history, and then the stories and experiences of community members—he can’t stop the growing feeling that this is _him_. This is all part of him too, and he had had no idea that any of this existed at all.

The overall asexual experience is varied. Some people he finds, do have sex. Some don’t at all, and the same thing goes for romantic relationships and masturbation. It feels almost mind-blowing as he reads some of the excerpts from people talking about their asexuality. So much of it feels similar to how he feels that it is almost hard to comprehend.

Even as he reads though, asexuality doesn’t _quite_ seem to fit all the way. He probably would have been content with it though, if he hadn't flipped to the next chapter, this time about demisexuality.

_Demisexuality is a sexual orientation in which someone feels sexual attraction only to someone after they have developed an emotional bond_ , it reads _. Most demisexuals feel sexual attraction rarely compared to the general population, and some have little to no interest in sexual activity._

He blinks, and he rereads the definition, and something about it…seems to click. His knees feel weak and his throat is dry when he swallows, his mind reeling. This…this sounds a lot like what he feels.

His eyes skip over to the demisexual flag on the next page, trying to take in the idea that this could represent _him_. The demisexual flag is similar to the asexual flag, but instead of simple lines of colour, it has a large black triangle on the left side, with a large band of white, a smaller band of purple, and another larger band of grey feeding out from it.

He stares at it for a moment longer before moving on to some of the interview sections of the chapter. As he reads, he can’t help feeling more and more like this orientation is the one that fits him.

_I didn’t know about demisexuality for a long time,_ Chloe, a twenty-four-year-old says. _For most of my life I just assumed everyone felt the same way that I did, and it was so weird for me to learn that people didn’t feel that way._

_I remember once, I was at a sleepover with my friends, and we were playing one of those Describe-your-future-spouse games, and I could not understand how anyone could know what they wanted their spouse to look like before they had even met them. I don’t really have a ‘type’, like most people seem to._

The next one is from another girl, a twenty-one-year-old. _I noticed it because I seemed to get way fewer crushes than the rest of the world,_ she says _. I couldn’t understand why everyone made such a big deal about them. After a while I thought that maybe, I just couldn’t feel those things – that I was emotionally broken or something. I used to worry that I couldn’t fall in love, and I would try to reassure myself with the few crushes I had had. Now that I know about demisexuality, things make a lot of sense and I feel a lot better._

_My dad used to try to talk to me about girls all the time,_ Marc says. _I knew I didn’t like girls, so at first, I thought that was all this was. I had people tell me I was just a late-bloomer, and that eventually I would feel the same things as everyone else… It was confusing to me sometimes because sometimes I would think I actually_ did _finally get what people were saying, but often it would be towards close friends I had been around for a long time._

_I was married, before I ever knew about any of this,_ says another woman, this time in her late forties, and he suddenly feels relieved that there are older people as well who have experienced this. _There weren’t any resources about this when I was young. Sometimes I would feel uncomfortable in situations, but I thought that maybe everyone felt that way at first. When I was dating, it took me a while to feel the attraction that people seemed to expect, and I used to worry I was leading people on without meaning to._

The stories go on like that, and in the next chapter about grey-sexuality, he finds similar experiences. Grey-sexuality is defined in the book as people who experience limited sexual attraction, and it is another orientation that fits with asexuality in some ways, but not all of them. The experiences of ‘Grey-A’s’ seems to fall on a spectrum as well and he finds that demisexuality still feels like the best fit for him.

After that the book goes into aromantic orientations and he decides that he is probably demiromantic as well. It feels a little strange just _deciding_ these things for himself, since he had never really thought about it before, but it makes so much _sense_ reading it that he can’t help the warm glow that fills his chest at the same time.

He wishes he had known about this before. He wishes he had had the _words_ for this before. He hadn’t realised how lonely it had been wondering and worrying about this until he had learned that other people feel this way too.

_Asexual representation is still limited,_ the book states at its conclusion. _And resources can be hard to find, especially since much of it is online. As some of the people in here have shared, there are still difficulties faced by asexuals that can feel overwhelming or painful. Whether it is a doctor who is unaware of asexuality, and thinks it a medical symptom—or if it is simply the feeling of not being ‘ace enough’ to fit in with the ace community, or the wider LGBTQ community as a whole—asexuals can feel alone in a world they can’t seem to mesh with._

_I hope through these pages and through the varied and vibrant lives of individuals from all along the asexual spectrum that it becomes clear that no matter where someone sits under the umbrella, there is a place, and a community here for them._

He is speechless as he finishes reading. He doesn’t know how long he has been standing in front of the display, but his neck and shoulders are sore, and his feet hurt. He couldn’t care less about that though. His mind is still set firmly on the book and the things that he had just learned.

He had known none of this. He had had absolutely no idea, but now that he does, things seem to make so much _sense._ It is a relief to read this, and he feels almost giddy knowing that there is a whole _community_ of people who feel the same way he does. People who understand exactly how he feels, and his own confusion, and his own difficulty.

It is such a sharp, new feeling that he almost doesn’t know what to do with it. He pulls the book close to his chest though, and he turns to head towards the cash register. He thinks he will be rereading this book many times in the coming days.

oOo

Now that he knows about asexuality, he searches it up online. There he finds even more sources, and stories, and forums, and he spends a lot of his free time scrolling through the pages and marveling at all the people who feel similarly to him.

It is comforting just _knowing_ the word and having a name for how he feels and for the next few days, he feels like he is walking on air.

The book and the online forums had talked about what is called ‘coming out’, or telling other people about your sexual orientation. He spends a lot of time thinking about that too. There are pros and cons to coming out, and there are stories—good and bad—about doing it.

For the most part, he doesn’t really feel like he has anyone he is close enough to for him to _want_ to go through the emotional labour of ‘coming out’. (He wishes though, that he had known this word before now. He thinks back to some of what Bucky had said before, and he can’t help thinking that his friend would have understood if he had tried to tell him this.)

He does tell one person though. The next time he visits Peggy, she notices right away that something is different about him. “You’re happy,” she says, her eyes bright as she looks him over and reaches for his hand. “What is it?”

He can’t help smiling at her, and he squeezes her hand. His newfound knowledge rises up in his mind, and before he knows it, he finds himself telling her about it. “I learned something,” he says. “Something amazing.”

Peggy doesn’t know what demisexuality is right away, but he finds that he doesn’t mind explaining it to her, because she seems willing to listen and understand, and he wants to share. “I wish I had known about this back then,” he tells her, meeting her gaze. “I would have been able to better explain to you how I was feeling. Things make a lot of sense now.”

Peggy smiles softly at him, her eyes as warm as always. “I’m happy for you,” she says quietly, the lines of her face creasing with her smile. “I’m glad you found this.”

Besides Peggy, there is really only one other person that he can really see himself talking to about what he had learned, and that one makes him a little more apprehensive than before. Intellectually, he can’t see Natasha taking issue with his asexuality…

But that doesn’t mean he feels at ease talking to her about it. With Peggy it had been easier, because he hadn't felt that she would have any preconceived notions of asexuality, and she doesn’t really have any expectations on _him_ either.

With other people though, it is different.

It is unfortunate, but he is aware of a portion of the population that has a problem with asexuality and demisexuality—people even in the ace or LGBTQ community. The book and some of the online forums had mentioned worries and confrontations about ‘not being ace enough’, and some posts he had read had discussed frustration with some LGBTQ spaces being less welcoming to aro ace people.

That makes him nervous. It isn’t that he thinks that Natasha won’t accept who he is. But… well, the possibility is there. And there is also a possibility that Natasha won’t even know what demisexuality is, or that she won’t believe it is real, or important, or different from just ‘being normal’.

He doesn’t want to deal with that, and he doesn’t want to have to defend himself either.

He doesn’t _have_ to tell anyone though. That is his choice, and the online forums had been clear that if he didn’t feel safe or comfortable doing it, then he didn’t have to.

So… he decides to leave it for now. Right now, it is enough to have the word for himself, and to be able to share it with Peggy. And now that he knows his own feelings, it gets a little easier to handle working on the STRIKE team and everything that entails.

He won’t say he isn’t tempted to burst out with it sometimes though, when Natasha suggests another blind date for him to go on, or someone to ask out. He understands better now why that doesn’t really appeal to him, but he doesn't really know how to tell Natasha that. It isn’t _unbearable,_ but it is something that he probably wouldn’t mind stopping.

But…he would have to tell her about him to really stop it, and there is always the possibility that that _won’t_ stop it, or that other people will learn about it and decide that he just needs to find the right person in order to ‘get over it’.

He doesn’t think he can handle that. So he leaves things the way they are for now.

It isn’t that hard to fend off Natasha actually, and he thinks that that is _probably_ a sign that she wouldn’t react too badly to his orientation.

“What about that nurse across the hall?” she calls to him after parachuting down to help him infiltrate the Lumerian Star. “She seems nice.”

“Secure the engines first,” he deflects easily. “ _Then_ find me a date.”

“I’m multitasking,” she shoots back, and it is more teasing than anything else, reminding him a bit of Bucky, back before the war. He smiles a little at that, and moves to search the ship for the head pirate that had taken it.

Retaking the ship from pirates could have gone better, but his work with SHIELD is suddenly about to get a _whole lot more complicated,_ and he doesn’t have much time to think about what to do about Natasha.

SHIELD isn’t what it was supposed to be. He isn’t exactly sure what it _is_ yet, but Fury had been killed and SHIELD had tried to apprehend him in an elevator, forcing him to go on the run, in order to try to figure out what is going on.

He is a little high-strung when he finds Natasha with the USB stick that Fury had left him before he had been killed, and he doesn’t even know at first whether or not he can trust her. Fury had warned him not to trust anyone, and SHIELD had just open fired on him half-an-hour earlier, so he isn’t feeling very generous with trust at the moment.

Natasha seems to realise that, her eyes flicking rapidly over his angry expression as he leans over her. “I know who killed Fury,” she says quickly, opening up and offering him an olive branch. He pulls back a little at that, and she tells him about a fifty-year-old ghost story called the Winter Soldier.

She shows him a scar on her abdomen, and he decides to take a chance.

“Let’s see what this ghost wants,” he says.

oOo

Natasha takes them to an electronics store in the mall so that they can try to read the USB Fury had left them. Of course, SHIELD is able to trace them the moment they plug it in, and they have about nine minutes before the calvary comes and hunts them down.

Natasha isn’t able to read the file, but she is able to trace where it had come from, and a map pops up to show a location in New Jersey. With that information, they are able to duck out of the store in time to miss the STRIKE team, but not before the mall gets infiltrated.

“First rule of going on the run,” Natasha tells him as they walk purposely through the mall, his eyes scanning the crowd for hostiles. “Walk, don’t run.”

The advice is sound, but it does leave them trapped on an escalator heading down, while Rumlow stands on the one beside them, heading up. He is busy trying to calculate escape plans should they get spotted and this all go pear-shaped, when Natasha spins around and looks up at him, her eyes determined.

“Kiss me,” she states bluntly, and he stares at her.

“What?” he manages, thrown off by the abrupt order, and Natasha doesn’t waste any time as she cuts to the chase.

“Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable,” she says, and he can see where she is coming from, but–

“Yes, they do,” he tries to say pointedly, a sweat prickling uncomfortably over his shoulders as Natasha stares up at him and Rumlow gets closer on the opposite escalator. Evidently, they don’t have time for his hesitation, because Natasha grabs him and leans in, her face ducking under his baseball cap as she puts her hand on the back of his neck and presses her lips to his.

His stomach clenches uneasily, but he doesn’t pull back, because he knows what she is doing, and he knows why. It doesn’t make it pleasant, but it is at least different from Lorraine this time. Natasha does nothing but press her lips against his. She doesn’t try to deepen it or pull him in any more than she already has, which helps. He doesn’t move either, remaining frozen as the escalator continues downward.

Natasha pulls away as Rumlow passes them, and she spins to walk down the steps of the escalator to the first floor.

“You still uncomfortable?” she calls, and he supresses a sigh.

“It's not exactly the word I would use,” is all he says, trying to put the moment behind him and forget the far too familiar feel of unwanted lips on his mouth so that he can focus back on the mission in front of them.

It is a two-hour car ride to New Jersey though, and he probably should have expected Natasha to bring it up again. She sits next to him in the passenger seat, and he can feel her watching him as she pulls her feet off the dashboard.

“Alright, I have a question for you,” she starts, her eyes flicking over him as he drives. “One, which you do not have to answer,” she continues, before her voice takes on a more commentary tone. “I feel like if you don't answer it though, you're kind of answering it, you know?

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and throws her a quick glance to cut her off. “What?”

Natasha’s head bobs with the divots in the road, and her eyes remain fixed on him, something curious in her gaze. “Was that your first kiss since 1945?”

This time he really does sigh. He can’t be sure where this conversation is going, but he has a guess, and he feels tired just thinking of it. For a moment, the urge to finally tell Natasha about his orientation rises up in his throat, but he swallows it back, the habit of deflecting winning over instead. “That bad, huh?

Natasha’s voice is playful and defensive all in one. “I didn't say that.”

He huffs out a breath and rolls his shoulders as he flicks his eyes over the road and then over to her. “Well, it kind of _sounds_ like that's what you're saying.”

Natasha shakes her head, her posture still as relaxed as ever as she looks at him. “No, I didn't,” she maintains, and he can feel her gaze on him as he keeps his eyes on the road. “I just wondered how much practice you've had.”

His mind flashes back over his very short experience with kissing, and his stomach clenches uncomfortably with something close to nausea. “You don't need practice,” he says, and his argument would probably have some validity – if he had experience in general. But he hasn’t, not really, and—

Natasha scoffs lightly, shaking her head in disbelief, her tone still mostly curious, with a pinch of teasing. “Everybody needs practice.”

He swallows, and he can feel the lie he needs rise up in his throat. _It was not my first kiss since 1945_. It is easy to say. Simple. It wouldn’t even matter if Natasha knew it was a lie. He could say it and she would probably drop the topic. He could say it, it doesn’t matter. He could say it. Words rise up in his throat and he grits his teeth, his stomach flipping as he opens his mouth and—

“I’m demisexual.”

It is all he can do not to choke and swallow his tongue at his admission. The words burst out of him seemingly on their own, and he doesn’t know what to do about it now. He becomes hyperaware of Natasha next to him as he waits for her to react to his words. His hands feel sweaty all of the sudden and he tries to relax his grip on the wheel as he drives. His shoulders are tense though, and the endeavor proves fruitless.

Natasha shifts next to him, and he doesn’t look at her. “Oh,” she says, and the tone is simple and straight forward, not exactly shocked, but not disgusted either. “Thank you for telling me.”

He glances at her in surprise, and she meets his gaze easily. He blinks at her once before pulling his eyes back to the road so that they don’t crash. “Yeah,” he manages, his tongue dry as he works it around in his mouth. “So… I didn’t really have a lot of kisses _before_ 1945 either.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees Natasha’s mouth quirk up and he relaxes a little, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel as he pushes his shoulders back into the seat. Beside him, Natasha shifts in her seat again, and he throws her another glance.

“You…know what demisexuality is?” he clarifies, because from what he has heard, the term isn’t as well known as some of the other orientations.

Natasha nods, something contemplative in her eyes as she looks at him. “I guess that explains why all my date suggestions have been falling through,” she says, and he huffs out a short breath that isn’t quite a laugh.

“Yeah,” he says ruefully, focusing his eyes back on the road. “Blind dates aren’t really my thing.”

He can feel Natasha watching him, and for a moment there is only the sound of the road passing under them as they sit in the car. Finally, Natasha speaks up again. “I’m not going to ask you why you didn’t tell me before,” she says, and she meets his gaze again when he looks at her. “That’s personal for you. But…” she trails off and licks her lips before tucking her hair behind her ear. “I hope you know I would've stopped the suggestions if you’d asked me too.”

Her eyes shift away from his to look out through the windshield, and he nods, letting out a breath. He doesn’t say that he _had_ known that, because that isn’t entirely true. But he doesn’t want Natasha to feel bad about it either. “It…” his hands flex on the steering wheel. “It wasn’t so bad,” he manages, quirking his mouth up at her. “And it mostly kept the STRIKE team off my back so…”

Something seems to ease around Natasha’s eyes when he next looks at her, and she tosses her head as she puts her hands comfortably into the pockets of her hoodie. He flicks his eyes over her and looks back at the road. “I haven’t really told anybody,” he says, even though she had said he didn’t have to explain. “I’ve told Peggy, and now you,” he looks over again. “But that’s it.”

He pulls in a breath and lets it out again. “I guess it was easier that way,” he says, turning to watch the lines on the road zip by. “I wasn’t really sure how people would react, and—” he flicks his eyes to her. “Asexuality doesn’t seem to be talked about as much, you know.” She nods quietly, and he looks back at the road. “It wasn’t even in SHIELD’s files,” he continues. “They covered the basics of the LGBTQ groups for me, but…”

He trails off and shrugs, suppressing a sigh. He sees Natasha nod and cross her legs from where she sits. “So you found asexuality yourself?” she asks, and he nods.

“Yeah,” he says, something easing in his chest as he continues to talk. Now that the initial stress of the admission is over, it feels kind of nice to talk about it with someone, especially since Natasha seems perfectly understanding. “I found a book, actually,” he continues. “I must have look pretty strange standing there and reading the whole thing in the store, but…” he can’t help smiling. “I was pretty enthralled.”

Natasha offers him a smile of her own when he looks at her. “I imagine,” she says quietly, shifting back to get more comfortable. Silence falls between them for a moment, but it isn’t an uncomfortable one, and he lets it sit as Natasha thinks over his words.

After a while, she sits up a little and looks at him. “I guess…I made you more uncomfortable than I wanted to. In the mall.” There is an apology hidden in her words, and he glances over, breathing in before he shrugs.

“Yeah,” he says, looking up ahead again. “But we didn’t have much choice.” He blows out a breath and lets out a dry chuckle as he shakes his head. “To be honest, you orderin’ me to kiss you is more warning than I’ve gotten for most of my other kisses so…”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at that, and before he knows it, he finds the story of Lorraine and Peggy tumbling out of his mouth, his hands clenching a little on the steering wheel as he talks. “I don’t really blame Peggy,” he says. “She was going to wait, but then she thought I was gonna die–” And she hadn't been wrong about that. “–but with Lorraine—”

He can’t help the shiver that runs through him, and he can feel Natasha’s gaze on him from the passenger seat. Her lips press together, and she swallows. “You know…” she says quietly. “You know, nowadays, we would've called that sexual assault.”

His teeth clench a little at that, and he lets out a breath, keeping his gaze focused up ahead. “I could have pushed her away.”

Natasha doesn’t move, and he can feel her eyes on him. “You shouldn’t have had too.”

He pulls in another breath. “No,” he says finally, glancing over at her and flexing his grip on the wheel. “I shouldn’t have had to.” Even if the language of consent had been different back then, even if he hadn't been so obviously uncomfortable with Lorraine, even if it had only been a kiss. He shouldn’t have needed to push her away.

“I don’t think she really meant it that way,” he says after a while. “Everyone just kind of assumed that guys liked kissin’ girls back then.” He shifts his grip on the wheel and lets out a slow breath. “I’m kinda glad people are having more conversations about consent now though. Back then, it felt like if I rejected her, then there would have been a stigma.”

Nowadays, there might still be a lingering stigma, but there are people trying to actively combat it, and he would at least have words for what had happened to him.

“Well,” Natasha says softly, as the turn-off for camp Lehigh comes up ahead of them. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” Before he can say anything, she rolls her shoulders and offers him a small smile. “And I promise I won’t kiss you again unless we’re in mortal danger.”

Her eyes brighten as her words elicit a laugh from him, and he finds his chest feeling rather light as he takes the turn-off.

oOo

After camp Lehigh, and after he had learned about Hydra, and Bucky, and after he had raced against time to stop project Insight—and after he had spent a week or so recovering from his injuries—he and Sam stand next to an empty grave and see Fury off.

He is still achy, and tired, but his thoughts are pulled away from any of that as Natasha steps up to replace Fury, a folder in her hand. He glances over, and he knows what it is. He had asked for it, on the first full day he had been conscious in the hospital, and Natasha had obliged.

“Here,” she says simply, and as he reaches for it, he feels her slip something small and circular into his hand. He glances at her in surprise, and she flashes a smile at him, her eyes bright as she gives him a few parting words, before turning and leaving him with the file and her gift.

He opens his hand, and nestled in his palm, he finds a small metal pin. His eyes widen as the familiar colours of the demisexual flag stare up at him from the face of the button. His mouth opens in surprise, and gratitude swells up in his chest as he darts his head up to where Natasha had come.

“Thank you!” he calls, and Natasha smiles again as she waves.

He can’t explain it, but the pin feels momentously important. He keeps it pinned to his duffle bag while he and Sam tromp back and forth all over the place on Bucky’s trail, and every time he looks at it, he can’t help the flare of pride it ignites in his chest.

One night, when Sam asks him about it, he only hesitates for the barest of seconds before he sits down and tells him what it means.

**Epilogue**

Months and months later, after he had found Bucky, and after he and Bucky had settled into a mutually acceptable system of balance, and distance, and closeness—whatever Bucky needed as he was trying to piece himself back together again—he is sitting in his new apartment in Brooklyn, freshly returned, and not quite unpacked.

Bucky is with him, but he knows that he will slip out again before the night is over. That doesn’t bother him though. He knows Bucky will be back again soon enough, and he is content to stay here as an anchor while Bucky drifts in and out on the tides of want and need.

Things are already better than they were before. Bucky is less tense and defensive than he had once been, his eyes flicking over the apartment with interest, rather than out of simple threat and defense analysis.

His eyes catch on his duffle bag, thrown on the bed for when Steve has the energy and motivation to unpack it, and he steps over, the fingers of his right hand running over the glossy finish of the striped button.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice slightly rough as he flicks his gaze to him, his eyes peering curiously up from behind the strands of his hair.

Steve blinks a little in surprise, and then he smiles, settling himself down in the desk chair across from him. “Let me tell you about it,” he says softly. 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> I kind of feel bad for Steve. Almost all of his canon kisses weren’t really his choice. At least he can talk about that now though. And of course, he can talk about how he feels and have an actual name for it. I do feel that asexuality isn’t talked about as much, so I don’t think it would be surprising for SHIELD do skim over it when they were getting him up to speed.
> 
> The book Steve found is one that I made up, but it would be pretty awesome if it were real! 
> 
> [Here](https://acesandaros.org/learn/the-asexual-umbrella) is a source on the ace and aro spectrums.  
> [Here](http://demisexuality.org/articles/what-is-demisexuality/) is a source on demisexuality.  
> [Here](https://asexualagenda.wordpress.com/2012/08/08/many-ways-to-be-between/) is a source on grey-sexuality.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr:[16woodsequ](https://16woodsequ.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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